Be Patient
by Farawayland
Summary: A moment in which Emma decides on whether being patient was ever in the cards. Rated M for Smut, with a dash of humor thrown in for good measure. (PWP/Smut)


_Author's Note: PWP/Smut. This idea was originally going to be a one-shot in my A Vignette of a Heart series, but it ended up being so long I made it a standalone piece instead. It also didn't quite fit as well with the idea I had of that particular version of Emma and Hook. I hope you enjoy. Leave some love if you like it! - Fara_

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Emma raised her hand to knock on the door—paused, fist hanging in the air—and then finally knocked, a slight furrow in her brow as she second-guessed the action she couldn't undo. The resounding echo sounded out of place in the bed and breakfast she knew was mostly empty, and cold. The place felt eerily unlived in.

Her hands combed through her hair, encountering resistance the entire way, which wasn't surprising considering she'd spent her day chasing a snow monster around town. Personal grooming hadn't exactly been a priority. The thought made her run her tongue over her teeth, but they felt clean. Thinking back, she wasn't actually sure she'd eaten anything since breakfast.

Suppressing a shiver, she rubbed her hands briskly against the thick leather of her jacket, trying to bring some warmth to them. Even when Gold wasn't immediately involved in her life, he still found ways to infuriate her. In this case, it was his shoddy maintenance. The man could orchestrate the most nefarious of plans, yet he couldn't keep a heating system running properly?

Shifting her weight from heel to toe, she knocked again, her hands immediately finding her pockets, as if she wanted to curb the urge to knock a third time.

Why wasn't he answering the door?

Her breathing seemed louder than normal in the empty hallway, and she cleared her throat, trying to distract herself from the soft flutter that began in her stomach. There was no reason to be nervous. Her coming here—it wasn't any different than running into him at Granny's, or the docks. When her thoughts began to drift toward the reasons behind her impulse to see him, the _true_ reasons, she quickly pushed them away. She was just coming to check on him. It had been a long day, and they hadn't left things in the best place.

 _Be patient._

When the door to the room before her stayed stubbornly shut, she turned to go, trying not to dwell on where he might be if not in his bed.

She'd made it several feet down the hall when the squeak of hinges gave her pause, and she looked back to see him easing out of the door, a smirk, more than a smile, tugging at his lips.

She just _knew_ he was going to break the silence with some terribly clever innuendo, but with her heart pounding away at her ribs, and her stomach doing its best to flip upside down, she couldn't let that happen, so she said the first thing that popped into her mind.

"Were you trying to avoid me, Hook?"

 _Shit._

Well, that was unfortunate. She hadn't meant to say that, and she certainly hadn't meant to say it with that hint of regret that hung so apparently on every word.

His smirk faltered, and he stepped fully into the hallway, the door closing softly behind him. He was at least five feet from her, but she could see the shift from playful to yearning as easily as if he stood pressed against her, though she had a feeling that if he were that close, she would certainly be able to more than _see_ it.

She held his gaze, drawn into those brilliant blue eyes that were watching her with a mix of sadness and longing. It was really unfair, those damn eyes getting her every time. Her legs moved of their own accord, and suddenly she was a few feet closer to him, her hands still tucked safely into her pockets.

"Never, Swan." His teasing smile returned. "It just took me a moment to get…decent."

Dragging her eyes from his, she noticed that his hair was damp. He must have been in the shower, and _that_ was a thought that she didn't need in her head, but there it was anyways, living it up. She swallowed as her gaze shifted to his customary pirate garb, suddenly becoming aware that his waistcoat was unbuttoned over the loose black shirt, and the laces on his trousers were undone.

It was the farthest from decent she'd ever seen him.

"You look slightly off, darling." His eyebrow arched roguishly as his tongue lingered at the corner of his mouth, lips slightly parted. "Are you offended by my attire? We could certainly head into my quarters and rectify the situation."

Ah, the cunning wit, there it was.

The complete silence of the hall suddenly felt overbearing, and she yanked her hands from her pockets, wrapping her arms tightly around her chest, as if she could somehow muffle the quickened beating of her heart with leather.

"Killian," she said, her green eyes slowly dragging themselves upward. "I wanted to talk to you about today…"

She _had_ wanted to talk to him, but when her eyes met his, as blue as that damn ocean he loved so much, she saw all of those things she needed, but couldn't admit to, staring back at her, and suddenly her mind was empty—there was only the remembrance of words she meant to say, nothing more. At that moment, she couldn't have strung together the alphabet if Storybrooke depended on it.

She closed the last few feet between them, something drawing her towards him with all of the violent pull of the tide. Her hands found the rough planes of his face, her lips crashing against his as she exhaled a trembling breath. His scent surrounded her as she dragged her hands across his body, memorizing each angle and peak that they caressed, her skin flaring with heat whenever she found those places left exposed by his clothing. A moan escaped her throat, head tilted back brazenly as he brought his mouth to her neck, the coarse drag of his stubble razing over the spots his wet, shameful lips seduced.

When his hook found the enticing sliver of skin below the edge of her jacket, her inner muscles clenched tightly in pleasure, desire pooling between her legs at the slow, aching drag of the tip across her fevered flesh.

His fingers moved then, untangling themselves from the nape of her neck and skimming the flutter of her pulse as he mapped a course towards more enticing spoils, her magic swirling beneath the surface of her skin wherever he touched.

She could feel her legs trembling and the press of his hook in her back, the curve of it cradling her now as his hand went to work on her breasts, teasing circles around her nipples as she moaned, his name falling from her lips like a supplication. She felt the splay of his fingers over her, the radiating warmth from his hand making her body feel hollow and empty as she imagined every inch of his heated skin against her, in her, gliding over her.

A strangled sob fell from her lips and he drew her back to him, his lips resting lightly against hers as he whispered her name, his breath mingling with hers as they panted. His kiss was slow then, lingering as he explored the lush curve of her lips. Her body trembled as she came down from the exhilarating ledge she had been standing on to a place just as breathtaking, but more languidly paced. She nipped gently on his lower lip, wanting to explore his mouth and tongue, to taste the salt of her skin on him.

Following the pull of each other's bodies, each seeming to know and understand what the other needed, she straightened. His fingers and hook came to her shoulders, gently easing the jacket from her, his fingers gliding over the surface of her skin before moving lower, nails dragging along the curve of her breast and crescent of her waist as he knelt.

The quiet thump of his knees against wood echoed in her ears, mingling with the pounding of blood that seemed to rush as strongly as a river just below her skin. Her hands found themselves tangled in the damp crown of his head, her fingers tingling as she knotted them deeply within the rich black of his hair, his lips pressing gentle kisses against her stomach.

"Killian," she moaned, her voice thick with need, and perhaps something else.

No words fell from his lips, but the soft cadence of his breath against her was grounding, and she felt centered by him kneeling at her feet, his fingers pushing the bottom of her tank top higher as he sought contact against her skin.

It was the wet, heated stroke of his tongue that made her rock forward, the bare skin of her stomach meeting teeth as he pushed the flimsy material upward, his fingers lingering to drag along the curve of her breasts, the weight of his hook against her comforting.

Her trembling fingers shed the obstructing piece of clothing quickly, leaving her standing in the hallway of Granny's Bed and Breakfast clothed only in her jeans and a lacy black bra, Killian Jones kneeling before her as he lavished the delicate curves of her stomach with kisses and bites, his arms clutching her against him as if she would be washed away should he let go.

For a moment, there was only the silence of the hallway and the rutted, ragged breathing of two people, completely undone— and then the silence disappeared.

It came to Killian first, the sound of heavy footsteps on the path outside, the distant murmur of voices.

"Emma," he started, his fingers dropping from her sides as he stood and took her face in his hand. "Swan?"

She came back to him slowly, a confused expression on her face at the absence of his embrace, his mouth, his tongue. His blue eyes came into focus, staring at her seriously before flickering to a spot over her shoulder, the roughened skin on his hand pulling her further into awareness.

"Why did you stop, Killian?"

A genuine smile flashed across his face as he took in the slight crease between her eyes, the corners of her lips hedging between frustration and uncertainty.

"Bloody hell, Swan. It's the last thing I wanted to do, believe me, but we're about to be interrupted."

A wave of panic washed over her as she remembered that they were standing in the middle of the entryway to the bed and breakfast, she with no top on, and Killian looking thoroughly mussed, his waistcoat hanging lopsided and his trousers having more than a little difficulty protecting his modesty.

"Shit," she muttered, hastily grabbing her shirt and jacket from the floor, her eyes darting about, making sure nothing else was left abandoned for anyone to find.

Killian reached his hook toward her and she seized the familiar curve of it, following him the few feet to the door of his room as the voices from outside became clearer. She kept her eyes trained on the entryway, mentally begging whoever it was to take just a few more seconds to come inside.

"What is taking so long?" she snapped, whipping her head around to glare at the pirate who was currently staring at the door, doorknob in hand, as if he had never encountered one before.

"It's locked, Swan."

His voice was low and even, but there was the faint tremble of a laugh beneath its surface.

"You locked us out?"

She swung her head back toward the entry, eyes widening in horror as she saw the silhouette of three people beyond the curtained doorway, their conversation continuing as the jingle of keys sounded.

"Well, I wasn't planning on ravishing you in the hallway, love. I rather think that was your idea, though I was more—"

"Are you serious, Hook? We don't have…"

Her exasperated rebuke died on her lips as she noticed a door about ten feet towards the entryway, slightly ajar, with no room number, or peephole.

"Come on."

He was about to ask her what she wanted him to do when he was yanked down the corridor by his hook— _toward_ the group of people sliding a key into the lock.

"What the _bloody_ hell are you doing, Swan?"

"Shut up!"

She swung the door open and darted inside, pulling Hook in on top of her as she eased the door shut, feeling the mechanism click into place just as the front entry swung open, the conversation spilling inside as the group headed down the hallway.

Finally out of sight, Emma felt her breathing slow as the tension in her body relaxed, even if it didn't disappear entirely. She was fully aware of Killian's hard edges pressed against her in the small closet, his left arm wrapped around her waist, and his hand pressed against the wall beside her head, steadying them. His face hovered inches from hers, their breath mingling, the faint scent of rum on his breath sending a shiver of desire down her spine.

The longing to place her hands against his chest, to lean forward in utter darkness and find his lips was growing, but it fled as soon as the intruders, and their conversation, stopped directly outside of their door.

"I hardly see why it was necessary for me to come out at this hour Mrs. Lucas."

Emma's hands clenched involuntarily against her sides, recognizing the arrogant tone immediately.

 _Gold._

She caught the hitch in Killian's breathing and felt the slight tick in his arm, his hook jumping against her back at the sound of Rumplestiltskin's voice. If there was one person she didn't want to find her and Killian half naked in a closet, it was Gold, and she was fairly certain Killian felt the same way.

"You've gotta see the state of it." Granny's brash alto rang out in the empty hallway, only slightly muffled by the door between them. "This furnace isn't going to last the winter. It's already freezing in here, and I don't know how you expect me to pay the rent when the place is too cold for anything with a heartbeat."

Emma felt like someone had punched her in the gut, her stomach churning wildly as she reached forward and clutched Killian's arm with one hand, the other desperately reaching out in the dark, praying that they had _not_ ducked into the furnace room. Though at this point, _knowing_ they were in the furnace room would hardly make a difference. If that door was going to open, there was nothing they could do about it. She breathed a tiny sigh of relief when her hand encountered nothing but handles to brooms and mops, and beyond that a wall.

Killian's arm had been tense beneath her grip, the muscles bunched tightly, but the pressure dissipated as he felt Emma lean back against the wall, her hand still resting gently on his arm, her fingers making small circles in the linen of his shirt.

"I think we'll let the repairman be the judge of that, Mrs. Lucas," Gold insisted.

The group's footsteps headed down the hallway a little further, stopping near what must have been the furnace room. Emma heard the whine of squeaky hinges and the sound of something heavy clanging against the floor, probably a toolbox.

"Please, let me know what your thoughts are—tomorrow. There's no need for me to waste my time here tonight. Have a lovely evening."

When the footsteps of Gold faded into silence outside of the bed and breakfast, Emma leaned towards Killian, her forehead bumping against his chest as he placed a kiss on the top of her head. She could _feel_ the smirk.

"One down, two to go," Emma whispered against his shirt, a thrill of happiness spreading through her at his soft chuckle and the tightening of his hook against her back.

The words she had left him with earlier surfaced in her mind.

 _Be patient._

She suddenly realized it was the last thing she wanted to do, although she guessed some part of her had known that the moment she left on this mad errand to see him.

Not wanting to be patient anymore, she took a halting step forward, closing the gap between them that had done nothing to rein in the heat beneath her skin, or the slickness between her legs.

Reaching a hand between them, the kiss of his black linen shirt on one side, and her bare skin on the other, she eased her fingers into the loosened top of his trousers; her fingers brushing against the curls of dark hair she couldn't see, but knew would be there.

His sharp intake of breath pulled a grin from her in the pitch blackness of the broom closet, but it was the vice-like grip of his hand on her wrist that stilled her.

"Quite passionate, Swan," he teased, his voice low and dangerous in her ear, "but I'd advise you to avoid starting something you can't finish."

They were both intensely aware of the two people conversing further down the hallway, Granny's snippy insults against Gold rising above the soft, melodic tones of Marco as he worked on the furnace, the occasional clanging and banging of tools letting them know he may be there a while.

She couldn't help the heat that spread across her face, matching the feverish pitch in the rest of her body.

"Oh, there's no doubt in my mind I can _finish_ you," she murmured against his chest, her teeth grazing the skin beneath his charms. "The only question is if you can handle _it_."

His movement was rapid and unerring, even in the dark, his mind and body so attuned to her movements that he easily tilted her face up to him, his lips clashing against hers with bruising force, teeth hitting and tongues sliding over one another as her fingers slipped beneath the laces of his trousers.

When she wrapped her fingers around his hard length—and _my god_ was it something—he growled against her mouth, his hips bucking upwards into her palm as his left arm pulled her tightly against him. The noise she made as he slipped along her skin, the tip of his cock slick with his essence, was something between a whimper and a moan—it was _not_ quiet—and it was most definitely indecent.

His soft chuckle was lost in the tangle of her hair, but his words were clear.

"It looks like you're the one that can't handle it, love. Don't forget that we've company just down the hall. Do you think you can keep quiet?"

Emma bit her lip to keep from moaning as he pumped slowly against her, the entire length of him gliding over the ridges of her fingers as his tip butted against her stomach. The desire to slide her jeans down and let him slip inside of her aching center was consuming, and she found her fingers undoing the button and zipper before she realized that she would never be able to keep quiet with him between her legs, so she did the next best thing.

Sinking to the floor of the small closet, emboldened by the loud banging down the hall as Marco worked on the furnace, Granny chattering beside him, Emma hitched her fingers in the top of his trousers and slid them down his hips, his cock brushing against her cheek as it was freed from the restrictive leather.

Her core tightened pleasantly at the breathy groan that slipped from his mouth, his hand and hook tangling in her loose curls as she ran her hand along his impressive length, marveling that everything about him could be so perfect.

"Well," he whispered, the playful teasing in his voice so clear she could imagine the arch of his brow and the mischievous glint in his eye. "That's one way to keep quiet."

"Pirate," she whispered into the darkness above her.

"Always, love."

She wished she could see him, could look upward and watch his face as he fell apart in her mouth, but that wasn't going to happen, so _listening_ to him fall apart would have to do—she just hoped he had the good sense to do it quietly.

Caressing him gently, her fingertips dancing over his sensitive skin, she brought the weeping tip of him to her mouth, slowly encasing him in heat as she took him in. She felt the trembling in his legs as he struggled not to thrust into her mouth, his hips jerking forward only slightly as his breathing quickened, his fingers knotting tightly in her hair.

"Gods, Emma," he murmured, her hair suddenly falling around her face as he reached down to caress her cheek. "You're amazing, love."

She took her time exploring him, learning the unique taste and scent that was Killian, the places that were the most sensitive, making his hips jut forward in ecstasy, and the places that would make him sigh in relief. She had almost forgotten that they were in a broom closet; her thoughts and body so absorbed with making him come undone, wanting to hear him whisper her name into the darkness as he emptied himself in her mouth.

Though she could feel the shaking in his thighs, the desperate control he tried to maintain, Killian barely let anything escape his lips other than the hushed prayer of her name.

It was impressive.

She was so focused on the enjoyable sensation of his weight in her hands and mouth that she barely felt him tugging her upwards, pulling her body to his as he placed tender kisses along her neck and face, his lips taking her passionately as he whispered words into her mouth.

"I need you, Emma," he pleaded, pushing his hardness against her, his fingers caressing her cheekbones and the elegant sweep of her neck. "I need to feel you around me when I come."

And she heard it in his voice, his love for her, his _need_ for her to complete him. It was enough, it was more than enough.

They moved quietly, the litany of tools clanging and mumbled curses continuing in the background. She turned away from him, wanting to feel the rough stubble of his cheek against the back of her neck, needing to feel his body cover hers as he took her. He placed her hands reverently against the wall, his hand and hook sliding down to her hips, latching in the top of her jeans and sliding them down.

Her breath caught in her throat at the whimper that resounded behind her the moment his hand caressed the bare skin of her leg, and she finally understood that what was going to make Killian Jones fall apart was nothing more, and nothing less, than all of her.

His fingers traced along the back of her thighs, dragging upward until he found the wet, heat of her center—the wordless cry he muffled against her shoulder as his fingers delved into her was almost painful.

"Killian, please," she begged, her core achingly hollow and needy, wanting something more than his fingers arcing into her. "I need you too."

"You have to be quiet, Emma. Can you be quiet, love?"

"I don't know," she whispered, honestly.

He stilled against her, and for a moment she thought he had changed his mind, but then she felt the wonderfully tight press of him against her dripping folds, the tip of him slipping inside as she pushed back against him.

It had been so long for her, and the sensation of slowly being filled was almost unbearable. The pleasure of being stretched around him, everything burning slightly as she adjusted to his size was beyond gratifying, and she felt the sob starting in her throat almost immediately. She knew she was going to cry, or scream, or make some other ungodly noise, but she couldn't find the strength to care. She had never _needed_ anything so badly.

As the cry was fluttering at the edges of her lips, she felt his arm leave her hip and slide against her face, the salty dampness of his skin pressing into her mouth as she muffled her cries against him, his cock sliding rhythmically into her, stroking the most perfect places, her muscles constricting around him.

It had been too long, and her fingers so insufficient that it didn't take long for Emma to feel that ever-tightening coil within her spring outwards, her vision dancing behind closed eyelids, no matter the dark. She felt him tense behind her, his fingers digging deeply into the flesh of her hip as he thrust twice more into her, pulling out almost completely before sliding back in, his body shuddering as he spilled himself inside of her, both of their bodies throbbing mercilessly where they were joined.

It took her a few minutes, her body still sensitive and vibrating, to be able to move, her limbs slick with sweat as she reached behind her to thread her fingers in Killian's damp hair.

His fingers released their bruising hold on her hip and moved upwards to stroke her chest, finally coming to rest against her thumping heart.

"That was…"

"Beautiful, Emma," he murmured against her neck, the words coming on a sigh. "That was beautiful."

"Well, I was going to say bloody spectacular." There was a pause, and her voice softened to an overcome whisper, "but it was beautiful too."

He chuckled softly against her neck, enjoying the feel of her body coming down beside his.

"Do you know what else it was, Killian?"

"What, Swan?"

"Loud."

"Are you quite sure? I thought we did a remark—"

"Listen, Killian."

Killian stopped listening to the both of their hearts racing alongside each other long enough to turn his attention to the hallway, waiting for the tell tale signs of Marco banging away at the faulty furnace, or the Widow Lucas complaining about the state of the building, but he heard nothing.

Just silence.

They stayed like that for a few more moments, listening, his body leaning over hers, not wanting the coldness that would creep in when their heated bodies separated. When the real world finally settled its weight back around their shoulders, they straightened and righted themselves as much as they could, resigned to whatever awaited them outside the door.

Blinking painfully in the harsh brightness of the hallway, Killian was the first one to look.

"It appears we are alone, Swan," he said, turning to take her hand as she stumbled out into the hallway.

"Oh, thank god," Emma muttered, one hand using his hook to regain her legs, and the other clutching her leather jacket in front of her like a shield.

When she looked down the hallway, her face fell, all the color draining from her cheeks.

"What's wrong, love?"

Killian's expression was perplexed as he followed Emma's horrified gaze, finally taking in the open furnace door and the abandoned toolbox, wrenches and screwdrivers lying haphazardly across the floor.

He couldn't help the brilliant smile that lit up his face.

"Well, it's always nice to make an impression."


End file.
